Prometto
by VampireKoala95
Summary: After a fierce battle, Germany is frantic searching for Italy. He knows that if he can't find him, he's a goner. What happens when he finds the man that hurt Italy and who is it? NEW CHAPTER 3-13-10
1. After the Battle

Ludwig limped around the bodies that were piled on the ground. His heart was slowly building up to a fast-paced symphony. If he didn't find

Feliciano...that meant he was... Germany shook the thoughts from his head. He couldn't bring himself to think about it. He looked around at

the shattered ruins of the once peaceful Italian village. The air still smelled like the pasta sauce that an Italian woman had probably been

cooking for her family for supper that evening. It had been a His heart nearly stopped when he saw a pair of twin boys that reminded him of Feliciano and

Romano. He had to keep looking...!

"Italien!" he cried again. "Bitte, Italien!"

"Nnngh!" came a small cry, "Germania!"

"Italien!" Germany turned in the direction that the plea came from. The wide open, dead eyes of the corpses seemed to follow him as he made

his way towards the cries for help.

"Germania, aiutatemi!!" Feliciano begged. He sounded so close, yet his voice seemed small... weak. Scared.

Ludwig fell to his knees and started pulling corpses out of the way. One, a small girl, wasn't dead yet. She was about seven years old, with

dark curly brown hair and brown eyes. She was covered in mud and blood and muttering small, broken phrases in Italian

Germany hung his head. He couldn't help her. There was a large dagger potruding from her stomach. She shuddered in his hands and

wrapped her own small ones around the handle of the blade and tried in vain to pull it out. She never made it. He wanted to hold her in his

arms until her body cooled, but he had to keep looking for Italy. He carefully her aside and then pulled another body out of the way.

Wiping the tears away, he continued his search for Feliciano, calling out his name repeatedly, always being answered with a small, pathetic

moan from the smaller country.

"Germania!" Italy cried, "Aiutatemi!!"

Finally, Germany grabbed something warm --- Italy's small hands. He pulled him out from underneath a young Russian soldier.

"Germania!" Italy sobbed, clinging to Germany's uniform. "Graize, Germaina..."

"Italien, bitte leben."

A sharp noise behind them made Germany turn sharply and pull his gun from its holster. "Halt!" he cried, pointing the gun at the approaching figure.

Ivan Braginski stepped from the darkness, a dark smirk on his face. "Well, well, well..." he mocked. "I see that Germany can still find the

useless freak even after I destroyed him when he refused to become one with me." His accent was very thick. Even if he hadn't been able to

see his face, Germany knew that this was his enemy.

Germany cocked his gun. "Stay back!"

Russia took an impending step forward. "Oh, you have a weapon. How cute."

The blonde fired a warning shot between Ivan's legs. "Don't. Come. A. Step. Further." he warned.

Braginski backed up. "Very well." he turned away. "You AND Italy WILL become one with me one day!" With that vow, he walked away, not

looking back.

Ludwig could have sworn he heard "Kol kol kol..." being chanted as Braginski fled into the twilight.

The blonde stood, placed his gun back in its holster and gently lifted a now unconcious Feliciano onto his back.

"Don't worry, " Ludwig reasurred the sleeping young man, "I won't let him take you..."

"Nnnn..." Italy moaned, scrunching up on the German's back.

"I won't...ever." he promised, walking towards the nearest hospital for help.


	2. Horrid Place and Italy's Wounds part 1

Throb... throb... throb...

A dull ache was slowly pulling Feliciano Vargas from a deep slumber.

"Hnnn..." he moaned, trying to sit up.

A pair of strong, yet very gentle hands pushed him back onto his pillows.

"No, Italy," a deep familiar voice scolded mildly, "Don't move so suddenly."

"Germany...?" Feliciano asked, feeling his pale cheeks get hot. Why was Germany in his room?

"Yes... I'm here, Italy."

"Where am I?" The bed didn't feel like his or big brother's... or even Germany's. It was hard and uncomfortable... Unfamiliar.

"A hospital in Bologna... Russia wanted you to become one with him."

Italy gasped quietly. "Oh...!" He sat up suddenly and felt a sharp twang of pain in his side. "Ouch!"

He felt Germany's hands at his side at once. He smiled.

The room was noisy. Moans and cries of wounded men, pleas and mutterings in German, Italian and English, even a Russian here and there... The place stank of death. Italy wanted to be rid of this horrible place.

Only then did he realize that he couldn't see. "Uwah!"

"What? What's wrong?" Germany asked, a worried tone in his voice.

"I can't see!"

"Italy, there is a bandage over your eyes," Germany told him. "Russia broke your eye sockets... You were hurt very badly."

Feliciano cried out, "How long was I unconcious?"

Germany hesitated telling him. "A week and a half." he said after a moment of silence. "Your body is covered in lacerations and there was some internal bleeding and severe blood loss, but you're all better now. I promise."

"Don't forget the concussion, Ludwig." a rough, loud voice muttered angrily from across the room.

Italy gasped. "Big Brother!" He wanted to jump up and hug him, but realized that he wasn't quite ready for that yet...

"Yeah, I'm here, you big dope. Now go back to sleep..."

Italy sniffled a bit and shreiked when he felt a needle go into his arm. Soon, he felt very sleepy and wanted to sleep. So he did just that, lying his head on the lumpy hospital pillow and fell asleep.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Germany sighed as he watched Northern Italy sleep peacefully. The doctors told him that Feliciano was very lucky to have survived an attack like that. Russia had come from everywhere, attacking everything in sight.

"Dammit, Feliciano," he whispered, placing his hand on top of the smaller nation's, "Get better soon..."

He remembered the night before the attack, the small Italian had been sitting in Germany's lap, half naked, like always, one of the blonde's huge dogs lying across him, Germany stroking Italy's auburn hair.

It was the night they'd first made love. Germany remembered being so gentle with him. He was small, fragile, breakable.

"Meine klein Italien..." he said quietly, kissing Italy's forehead lightly before grabbing his coat and field cap and taking his leave of the wounded Feliciano Vargas, trying not to break down the whole way home. 


End file.
